


Turpentine Erase Me Whole

by hereiamramblingagain



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Stucky - Freeform, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereiamramblingagain/pseuds/hereiamramblingagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve leaves for Russia to find Bucky and has to come to terms with the Bucky he finds and the Bucky he wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turpentine Erase Me Whole

**Author's Note:**

> uh so i havent written fanfic in 200 years??? im rusty as hell but im obsessed with stucky and so i must contribute... 
> 
> Anyways, post winter soldier, pre age of ultron (which is obvious now but may need clarification if ur readin this in june??) Um, this is way... way WAY angstier than i intended it to be and i.... this wasnt gonna be porn but like... idk it might get there? this was gonna be 1500 words of fluff where did i go wrong... enjoy lmao
> 
> title from Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe :D

“I wouldn't pull too hard on that string if I were you,” Natasha had said when she gave him Bucky’s file. But how can anyone avoid not pulling the red string of fate when it is tied so obtrusively around their finger?

Steve followed the string through cheap motels and stolen car reports through Eastern Europe. He trudged through snowy 10 people towns and bustling, icy Russian cities. As civilization started to fade away the clues became more obvious: shotgun shells, animal carcasses, and singed remains of fires. Although nothing prepared him for it to lead to a school.

It was a school out of a zombie movie. It was rusty and trashed and left open with animals reclaiming the inside. It exuded an air of strict order from an earlier time, and though Steve spoke little Russian it didn't take a genius to figure the posters didn’t read things like “Love each other!” and “Hugs!”  Things were flung open and strewn about, like someone had whisked through looking for something. Papers didn't yet have the ink worn off or plants growing through it, and the occasional muddy boot print could be seen. He could tell Bucky came through here, but for what purpose he was unsure.

Winding his way through the building, Steve managed to find a cafeteria of sorts, where Bucky had clearly struck his prize. Every cabinet had thrown open and pans and jars had been misplaced. He must have found gas or oil and some sort of incendiary product because a large singed pile of books and table bits was still smoldering in the middle of the room. Steve’s heart jumped at the thought that Bucky may only be a few hours walk away.

He toed at the ashes as he peaked into the kitchen, scanning for anything left behind. He wasn't in need of food or water, but something other than a dense protein bar had his mouth watering. Not seeing anything of interest he returned to the middle of the room. He resigned himself to searching around the campus for footprints. Making to leave, he heard the familiar click of a gun cocking as he stepped toward the hallway.

His hands fly instinctively toward his shield before a sharp voice stops him.

“Don’t.” It softens, “Please.”

Bucky steps from behind the half open cafeteria door and lowers the gun's aim to the floor. He looks even more tired and worn than he did on the helicarrier, although his hair is haphazard and shorter and his face is rougher with stubble. Looking at Steve with apprehension, he appears unsure what face to put on for him.

Steve drops his hands and inches toward Bucky, who puts the safety on the gun and tucks it away. They’re both stiff and unsure how to act or what to say, so Bucky just motions for him to follow.

Every glance Steve catches of Bucky’s face begins to confirm what he’s been dreading. Bucky is in there, but the person presenting himself to him now is the Winter Soldier. Changed, but still just a metal arm and a gun, trying to reclaim control of a mind lost to missions.

They weave their way toward the edge of the campus to what appears to be a bunker. It appears small as they approach, but stepping in Steve finds himself descending steep stairs into it. The main room sprawls before him, with several chairs strewn around and some propped up into a table. Seeing Steve’s confusion Bucky explains: “The school was built in the 40’s, but the Cold War forced it to take a new outlook on protecting the kids. You could pack at least a hundred in here and there’s like 5 of these strewn throughout the campus.”

Bucky is awkward and tense, as if he feels he should be familiar but isn’t sure what that familiar is supposed to be. He offers Steve a chair near the fire venting bits of smoke out through a fan in the ceiling. The process is slow, making the whole ceiling look foggy. Steve drops his bag and shield and sits, watching Bucky take a few awkward steps before seating himself.

“I,” Bucky starts, fidgeting, “I have some questions.”

“And I know I have answers.” Steve watches him. It’s as if “Bucky” is all an act but Steve can see the anxiety in his eyes and keeps silent.

“Thank you. I know some things. I’m… I’m James Buchanan Barnes. I entered the war in the 107th, I was captured by HYDRA and was then rescued by you…” He looks embarrassed by that fact. Clearing his throat he continues, “I joined your team of Howling Comandos and supposedly died by falling from a moving train.”

Steve nods, swallowing the memory.

“We were friends before the war.” Bucky waits for Steve to refute, and relaxes visibly when he doesn't. His eyes are full of apprehension and there are a thousand questions on his lips. “I’m sorry for what happened on the plane.”

Steve shrugs and forces a smile. “You really had me on the ropes there,” he says, assuming the phrase goes unnoticed.

Something like recognition clicks in Bucky’s eyes, however. “You say a lot of things that mean something. They make me feel something and I know that they mean something. I just don’t know what that something is. You say it with a look on your face that makes me know it hurts you to say it and I can’t figure it out.” He glares at the fire. Steve opens his mouth to fill the silence, cut short by Bucky mumbling, “What were we?”

“Huh?”

“What were we? Before the war, when we were… friends. I feel like I’m missing something important there.”

“We were close.” Steve is cautious with his word choice. “We’d been friends since junior high.”

“Do friends tend to have sentimental catch phrases?” Bucky's attempt to sound familiar is instead gruff and forced.

“I guess? I mean, I don’t think it’s unheard of? You were with me through a lot of tough stuff, Buck. You were practically my only friend, always pulling my punk-ass out of fights and cleaning me off.” Steve's smile is bitter. “You were with me ‘til the end of the line.”

“We were just friends,” Bucky says, more to himself than to Steve. Narrowing his eyes, he looks up. “You’re not telling me something. Were we more?”

“More?” Steve’s voice cracks. “W-what do you mean, more, I-“

“You know damn well what I mean!” He stands abruptly, eyes cold. Steve withholds an answer and makes sure he can see his shield out of the corner of his eye. “Steve!” Bucky snaps at him. The name itself seems to send Bucky reeling. Guilt floods into his expression and, dejected, he falls back into his chair. “I’m sorry,” He mumbles.

“We were more sometimes.” Steve's tone is gentle, and he chooses to ignore the outburst. “We weren’t going steady. We were just there for each other.”

“Tell me about sometimes.” His voice is small and childish, and he wants to take Bucky’s hands in his own.

“When we were 17, you tried to get me to ask a girl out. You told me exactly what to say and where to look and she still turned me down. Laughed right in my face. I was crushed, not because I liked her but because I thought I’d disappoint you.”

“You were smaller then,” Bucky mumbles, staring at his boots. Steve's heart jumps at the thought that his memories are still in there.

“Yeah… you gave me a whole pep talk, tellin’ me I just hadn’t found the right partner yet and that night you slept over and we talked about random things until ma went to bed. And we were young and excited from being up so late and so we played some stupid truth or dare game. Eventually you asked if I’d kiss a guy for a dollar. I told you sure.”

“Are you-?”

“Yeah well, I didn’t know at the time but yeah. I’d kiss anyone, really. Anyways…every time it was your turn to ask you’d lower the amount of money until you were down to a penny and then you had to change your question. You asked me if I could kiss anyone in the world, who would I choose?”

“Who was it?”

Steve scratches his head sheepishly, “I, uh, said I’d tell you if you gave me a penny.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re making this up.”

“I’m not! I swear!” Steve chuckles and shrugs. “Funny how I never figured out how to talk to girls,”

Bucky switches right back to staring at his boots. “I gave you a penny. It was…new?”

“Mm, well earlier we had dropped it in Coke because we wanted to see if it would really clean it.”

“You… said you would whisper it to me but you…”

Steve coughs and scratches his head again for lack of anything better to do with his hands.

“Did we sleep together?”

“U-uh, well, kind of?”

“Kind of isn’t bringing back my memory, Steve,” he sighs and rubs his eyes. “I want to remember. So bad.”

His desperate tone pulls at Steve’s heart strings. “You, well… I, um, we? Uh. We made out and then you kind of, um, sucked me off and then, um, I touched you a little, but that was it.”

Gears are turning in Bucky’s head. After a minute of silence he speaks again. “Did it ever mean anything to you?” He sighs, “Like, did you…have feelings for me?”

Color rises to Steve’s cheeks. “Yes,” he says. The word is soft and the ensuing silence hangs in the air with the smoke. His mind flashes to the times they had indulged each other. Times when they were still in school, before Bucky was to leave for the war. Even after the serum when they wound up pressed together in a tent or in the trenches.

“Did I have…feelings for you?”

The question hits Steve in the chest like a load of bricks. “I wish I knew, Buck. I always hoped you did but you, you never really said.” He opens his mouth again before Bucky could speak, “I…I always thought I saw it in your eyes. I would pick it up in the way you looked at me, in the way you’d clean wounds, and when you walked in to a room and saw me and your chest swelled just like it would when you wanted to impress some dame and…”

“I never said anything?” Bucky seems disappointed.

“Just, ‘I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.’”

“I said that?”

“We both did. It was something  _we_  said. I always dreamed it meant what I wanted it to. What I meant it as.”

Neither of them speak after that. They aren’t awkward as much as unfamiliar; the silence feels like that of an acquaintance and not a best friend. Steve accepts some old bread and some kind of gamey meat, which he enjoys far more than he should. Bucky gives him an extra blanket and after a whole lot of staring at the fire they both give up, rolling sleeping bags out on the floor and staring at the smoky ceiling.

The floor did nothing good for his back, and he slept fitfully, left to think about things that they needed to say. He knows Bucky isn’t sleeping any better but he has no idea how to resume their conversation. At some point another small piece of bread is left near his head to signal that its morning. He tries not to think about Bucky leaving it there, watching him sleep.

They've been staring at nothing again for at least an hour when Bucky finally speaks up again. “Is it tough?” he asks.

Steve’s heart breaks. When he was crammed in trenches with him or prepping for a speech, Bucky would always ask him if it was hard. If he ever got scared, if he was ever sick of being an icon. Bucky would ask and Bucky is asking again. He’s asking in that same tone of voice, as if he knows the answer but wants to hear it. “It’s a lot harder now.”

“How come?” Bucky looks at him and for the first time since he came here he feels like he can see Bucky. In his eyes, in the way he asks, the way his face looks. He looks younger and less burdened and Steve wants to hug him.

“I’m tired. I feel old, old like I’ll never have energy again. Peggy is old and is slipping away in a hospital bed, Howard is dead, and here I am fighting aliens and signing posters for fans. I feel guilty.”

“You feel like they should have left you in the ice.”

“Only if they left you too.” Steve sighs and rubs his eyes. “The fancy doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. say I've got major depression and try to give me all these pills. I’m supposed to take like 6 every day so the drugs will work around the serum and I just can’t take it. They don’t help enough to make me feel happy or adjusted. They just make me feel sick again.”

“If they say you have it you might be sick, Steve. The serum cleared your asthma and stuff, why not see if the pills help clear your head?”

Steve’s heard it a million times but he doesn’t say that. He nods. Bucky is suddenly Bucky again and he isn’t sure how he should be reacting. “I don’t wanna take you back there.”

“Afraid your fanbase will become obsessed with the new Avenger? I always did wanna be a movie star,” Bucky’s chuckling and Steve stares at him. Just a few hours ago he couldn’t remember when they were kids. Bucky’s wanted to be a star covered in women and riches since they were 12.

“They’ll take one look at you and you’ll become nothing but a science experiment. I looked at your file, I read what they did to you. They’ll be all over your brain and you’ll sit in a lab all day surrounded by doctors and tubes and probes.”

Bucky stiffens and its clear Steve hit a nerve. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Bucky is standing and hunching his shoulders and leaving the bunker. The air feels thick and cold, and Steve wants to die. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading guys! at least one more chapter depending on where i decide to take this? we'll wait and seeee
> 
> also im REALLY sorry if i wrote something horridly ableist. im really trying my best with it and as a neurotypical person im gonna make mistakes so if theres anything i can fix there please let me know! thank you!


End file.
